


New Beginnings

by Wheresthetime



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Coda, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Holidays, Men of Letters Bunker, New Year's Eve, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheresthetime/pseuds/Wheresthetime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for @Dsuperfan99 as part of our SPN Secret Santa 2014. Happy Holidays!</p><p>Takes place during the hiatus following 10.9 "The Things We Left Behind." Sam and Dean are fruitlessly searching for information on the Mark of Cain at the bunker when Dean suggests they take the night off for New Year's Eve. Dean is about to sneak-out when Castiel arrives. Written in first person from Dean's perspective. Since this is a gift I tried to keep it optimistic, but this is Supernatural so... Anyways, it ends optimistically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Beginnings

 

“Sammy.” 

I drum my fingers against the table, the book spread open in front of me. I can’t seem to get the smell of _old_ out of my nose, the mustiness from these useless books has gotten in to my clothes. I should really wash them.

“Sammy.”

I flip the pages of the book. It makes the smell worse, and the book no more helpful. I slam the cover shut. 

“Sammy!”

Sam flinches at the sudden noise, and his eyes jerk to mine. Before he can school his face I see fear and dread in his eyes. My stomach twists. Fuck.

“Everything ok?” he asks, and his face is more neutral now. I know that look. I taught it to him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, like I’ve said so many times before. I don’t think either of us actually believe it, but we both want to. “Hey, man. Let’s take a break.”

“You can take a break if you want. I’m fine.” He’s lying too. His eyes are bloodshot, and there are dark circles beneath them. I know he hasn’t been sleeping. His cheeks show hollows that weren’t there before. He hasn’t been eating either. He’s been wasting too many hours researching, and it’s all for nothing. This bunker has nothing to help, and his frenzied searching isn’t going to change anything.

We need Cain, and we’re never going to find him. Crowley might know something, but I don’t want to see him, and Sam doesn’t trust him. Funny enough, I still do. If anything he’s predictable, I just don’t have any reason for him to want to help.

I’m not making excuses. It’s not like it would be awkward or anything. Because it wouldn’t.

“It’s New Year’s Eve.” I say, pushing the image of cowboy hats out of my head.

Sam looks confused for a minute, and I know he’s forgotten what day it is. “Oh yeah? Ok.” He goes back to the book. His forehead creasing in concentration. He’s trying to find his place, but what’s the point? I could switch that book for a phone book, and it would make no difference.

“Let’s go out,” I say, getting to the point. “C’mon man, we need a break. Let’s get out of here. I’m going crazy stuck in here.” I realize almost instantly it was a bad choice of words. So does Sam.

“It’s not a good idea,” says Sam.

“Why?” I demand. My temper flares hot, and I push it down. That is not me.

Sam hesitates and looks at the book, but he’s just looking now, he’s not reading. He’s trying to figure out what to say. He’s trying not to upset me, and my temper rears again. I don’t need coddling, but that’s not what this is, and I know it. The real me knows it. The part separate from the Mark, the part I lost when I was a demon.

“You know why. Those people,” he starts.

“Deserved it,” I finish.

“There was no other way?” he asks, and his eyes are pleading. We’ve had this conversation before.

“I was outnumbered. By a lot. They were going to kill me, and it’s not like I didn’t try to talk my way out. I did. They could have walked.” I say, and it sounds like truth. In fact it _is_ truth. Just not all of it.

“Dean,” he starts.

“Sam,” I hold my hand up, and he sits rigidly in his chair. He’s waiting for me to talk, but he looks like he’s waiting to fight, his muscles tense. The Mark takes that as a challenge, and I try not to rub my arm. “Look, I may have gone a bit…overboard. But man, those monsters deserved it. They were not good people. Look at what they were going to do to Claire, and who knows how many kids before and after. It’s no loss.”

“It’s not the loss I’m worried about,” says Sam. He runs his hand through his hair. “Maybe I should be, but you’re right. They would have kept hurting people.”

“Then what is it?” I ask, and I’m afraid of the answer.

“You,” says Sam. “I’m worried about you. You lost control, and you are better than that. You don’t lose control, and it’s been happening more and more since—“ He swallows.

“Since daddy took the black eyes away?” I ask wryly. He frowns at the word choice. “Inside jo—. Never mind.”

“It’s not your fault, but man the shifter, this.” He’s breathing hard, and I know he’s starting to panic. He’s worried I’ll go dark-side again. So am I. I hadn’t meant to do it. It’s just that I’m so _hungry_.

Crowley said the Mark needs to be fed, and the stuff I’m throwing at it isn’t helping. Not the endless supply of junk food which should be getting me out of fighting weight if I wasn’t also working out like a fiend. My knuckles are raw, they haven’t gotten that way from a work-out since I was a kid. There’s a soft spot on the heavy bag as a result. I’ve been stuck in the bunker for weeks so sex has been out of the question, but the level of porn is even concerning me. It’s not helping.

Even my…slip-up…didn’t help. Not really. Without the blade it was frustrating, like nearing climax without being able to reach it. The missing blade is a constant ache. I’ve grown used to it so I can push it into the background like the tag on a shirt, but at that moment, when I was slicing my way through…I missed it like a phantom limb. Whether I like it or not, the Mark is part of me, and the blade is part of the Mark. Without it, the Mark’s not being properly fed. 

“We can’t keep pushing this off. _This_ is the job. We’re going to fix this, and until we do I don’t think partying is a good idea.” Sam continues.

_He took the blade from me._

I’m suddenly blinded with rage, and I clench my hands into fists, pulling the fabric of my jeans. He had no right. But that’s the Mark talking. That’s the shadow of the demon. It’s not me.

My fear pushes the rage away, and Sam sees something in my eyes.

“I’m fine,” I say, before he can say anything. 

Sam nods. 

“We need a recharge, and it’s New Year’s Eve. Let’s go out, have some beers. We’ll deal with this later. C’mon Sammy.” I’m pleading now. I just want to pretend everything is good. Ok, so we haven’t been a holiday type of family, but I need this. I need to pretend for one night.

“Maybe we can take the night off,” Sam agrees, and I smile, my muscles start to relax. I hadn’t realized they were tensed. “Here. We can take the night off here. Have some drinks, watch the ball drop on TV.”

I scowl. He closes his book.

“Everything’s overpriced out there anyways.” Sam’s trying to placate me. The break would do us both good, and I know he wants nothing more than to go out and pretend to be like everyone else. It makes me sad to see that he’s finally realized he’ll never be normal. He’ll never be one of them, the people who can go out for overpriced cocktails and not worry about demons and marks.

“Sounds good,” I nod. “Why don’t you grab the beer? I’ll find the channel.”

“Ok.” Sam looks at me warily, and I smile like everything’s fine. He leaves the room, and I rise. I wait till he’s out of earshot and grab my jacket. Sorry Sammy, but I’ve got to get out of here. The walls are making me feel caged, and I’m scared of what I’ll do. If I’m going to lose control, it’s going to be on someone else.

It’s getting worse. The Mark’s not being fed, and it’s demanding its due. Crowley will never give me the blade back. Not willingly anyways. We’re never going to find the answer, and I wonder if I should ask Cas to move up that timeline. Maybe he shouldn’t wait to take me out.

I grab the handle to the door, and open it as quickly as I can without making noise.

“Dean.”

“Cas?” Cas is standing at the door, and for a moment I wonder if I sent that last thought out as a prayer, but he’s holding a case of what appears to be champagne in one hand and a case of beer in the other. I’ve never actually seen anyone carry a case of champagne with one hand.

“I came to see how you were doing,” he says, looking directly into my eyes. I hate it when he does that. He sees too much. I break the gaze. “And to thank you of course.”

“I’m fine.” It’s becoming a reflex response. “What’s with the booze?”

“I believe it’s customary for this occasion. It is New Year’s Eve, well, it’s really just an arbitrary day. When time started there weren’t any calendars—anyways, you are my friends. It seemed the place to be.” He shrugs and both cases rise with the gesture. “I wasn’t sure what you would like.” 

“Hey Cas!” Sam returns and takes the case of beer from the angel. He looks at my coat. “Going somewhere?” His tone is light.

“Getting the door for Cas.”

“Needed your coat for that?” He returns. 

“Cold in here, isn’t it?” I rub my arms. “Brr.” 

“What’s up, Cas? Claire good?” Sam asks, ignoring me. “What’s all this?”

“Yes, as well as can be expected. I’ve never celebrated New Year’s Eve before, and this year felt appropriate,” Cas looks around awkwardly. “I didn’t bring snacks. I should have brought snacks.”

“We’re stocked. I’ve got stuff in the kitchen,” says Sam. He tosses the keys to the Impala subtly in his hand, before returning them to his pocket. I reach into my pocket, empty. Son of a bitch!

I take off my coat angrily. The sleeves get stuck, and I jerk it off with irritation. It falls in a crumpled heap. But this time the frustration is all mine and that knowledge is a relief even if it looks like I’m still stuck in the bunker instead of getting black-out drunk with hot girls eager for companionship on the last night of the year.

I look at Sam smiling at something Cas has said. It’s the first time he’s smiled since that day. I suppose there are worse things.

I help Sam put the beer in the fridge. I pat him on the shoulder as I pass, and I see his face relax, a soft smile forming. Cas opens a bottle of champagne.

“No overflow. Smooth,” I say.

“It’s a simple matter of physics,” says Cas, and I shake my head.

I grab glasses from the cabinet, and Sam interrupts, “Dude, have some class.” He holds up a champagne flute.

“We have those?” I ask incredulously.

“Men of letters,” says Sam as if that’s justification enough, and it is. I think of Henry for the first time in a while. I could see him here.

We set out snacks and drinks and flip the TV to some New Year’s Eve show, settling down in front of it. My brother looks tired but relaxed and very nearly happy. Cas still looks deep in thought but content. I compare that to the people partying on the screen, glamorously decked out without a care in the world, and I know that I have the better deal, at home with my family.

“Is there something that happens to Disney stars?” asks Cas, his head cocked to the side in puzzlement. There’s some pop star writhing on screen wearing some ridiculous costume. “Psychologically speaking I mean.”

Sam laughs, and I smile at the sound.

“This is nice,” says Cas with a smile “I have been thinking a lot about my place in the world, and I like this idea of new beginnings. Thank you.”

“For what?” asks Sam. 

“For making me feel like I belong somewhere.”

“You’re family,” I say.

“To new beginnings,” says Cas, raising a glass.

“To new beginnings,” Sam repeats.

I’ve never been one for resolutions, but this year I make one. I won’t give up. I won’t abandon my family to despair. Together we’ve always found a way, and I resolve to not forget that.

“To new beginnings.” I promise.


End file.
